Forbidden Fruit
by Human Emotions
Summary: Namine visits her grandparents' house for the holidays, and realizes she has a problem.


Namine wakes to a thud. Her eyes open lazily and she allows them to wander about the car. Her mother is standing outside the car, in a dress, freezing her ass off. Miniscule snowflakes fall into her hair and she lights the cigarette that is held between her lips.

Namine looks at her own dress, wrinkled now. The baby-blue fabric was no match for her tossing and turning.

She unbuckles her seatbelt now and steps out of the car. She takes a deep breath, and then coughs. Her mother is letting smoke exit her lips as she stamps out her cigarette. "Come on, Nami. Don't keep your grandmother waiting." Namine obeys, trudging along after her mother towards the big house on the hill.

There is the click of a screen door opening, many greetings from family members. The rest is a blur. Namine sits on her grandmother's couch, staring at the snow falling, listening to tidbits of conversations. "Them Cowboys, I tell ya'! Superbowl champs this year, no doubt." "Mommy! When are we going to eat?" "Oh goodness! It's so nice to see you!" It makes her feel sick.

Finally, the fathers and little cousins all leave the television room. Namine is left alone. She is still staring out the window.

A while later, her mother's head pops in. "Dammit, Namine, what the hell are you doing? Everyone else is eating." Namine feels a sharp pain, somewhere deep inside of her, as she stands slowly. She walks past her mother without speaking.

In the kitchen, she takes a plate. Looking at all the food, she knows she will pick one thing. Just one. She walks slowly, knowing that everyone else is eating, knowing that they might be staring at her. She picks up a roll, with a round top and a flat bottom. She sets that on her plate and gets herself a glass of water, then she walks out to the children's room.

She sits down in a big chair, the kind your father might sit and have you on his lap and tell you stories in. But Namine doesn't have a father. Here, this is not Papa's chair, it is Cousin Namine's chair.

She pulls her roll in half, scrunching up her face. "Yuck," she mutters under her breath. She drops it onto her plate and sips from her glass.

Sooner or later, all of her cousins are gone. She is alone, with her chair for company. Then, she is not so alone, as her round-faced grandmother nearly skips into the room.

"Oh, Namine! You've gotten so tall…" she doesn't say anything else, because she sees her granddaughter's plate. "Dear Lord, child, is that all you've to eat?" Namine nods, and she holds up her water glass. "You must be starving!" Namine is silent for a moment. "I ate before we came," she lies. "But dear, that was six hours ago."

Namine's face turns red, and she has nothing else to say. "Here," her grandmother says, "wait." She leaves, and returns with an apples. "Eat." Namine takes the apple, staring at it. Then she stares at the woman who dropped it in her hands. The woman, her mother's mother, leaves Namine alone.

The apple, itself, is not bad-looking. It is a very happy shade of red, with blotches of yellow here and there. Namine sniffs it, but she does not smell anything. Are apples supposed to smell? She doesn't remember.

Then, with every ounce of bravery she has, she bites into it. Her eyes pop open. What the hell? It's… good.

The flesh, under the skin, is white-ish yellow-ish green-ish, and the juice from it is quite sour. She takes another big bite, closing her eyes.

Soon enough, she finishes the whole thing, and goes to throw away the core. When she does, she realizes that her hands are sticky. Food always has drawbacks.

She knocks on the bathroom door and gets no response, so she throws it open and turns on the sink. While she envelopes her hands in foam and lukewarm water, she spies her reflection. She grimaces, and pulls the door shut with her foot.

Her face is so thin, like a starving African child you would see on television. Drying her hands, she realizes that they are quite bony, and she furrows her brow.

Knowing she will greatly regret her decision, she lifts her shirt. She nearly falls back, but she catches herself.

She trails her fingers along her ribs, exploring the valleys in between. For once, she does not welcome their presence.

She has nearly no stomach, it is so flat. It is like her rib cages are mountains, and they drop off into nothing. She feels hot tears fall off of her cheeks, and for a second she thinks that if she cries too much that her mountains would became waterfalls.

She pulls her shirt down, almost sick to her stomach, and realizes that there is something very wrong with her.

**(A/N: I know it's not the best, but I'm rusty. And yeah, it's short, too. It was originally just going to be from when she had the apple to the end, though. And it was going to be a oneshot. Aren't you happy that I can't make up my mind?)**


End file.
